Life In a Television Set
by Obscurus Lupa
Summary: The story of the drama that is Dean Dawkins' life. His journey to fix the television set.


Life In a Television Set 

By: Obscurus Lupa 

A/N: Well . . . I decided that Dean wasn't getting much screen time in the series, so I figured that I'd   
give him his fifteen minutes of fame. :) 

Monday. The second day of the week. The day devoid of marathons. The day devoid of   
quality programming. Well, the programming had its perks, but even then it was a little bland. Boring.   
Old. Monday. 

Mondays suck. 

It wasn't that Dean particularly hated Mondays; he just wished direly that it were Tuesday. Not   
that he ever talked about it with anyone. He just laughed half-heartedly, watching the frequent _Total_   
_Access 24/7_ reruns and thoroughly enjoying himself through _The Simpsons_ and _Malcolm In The_   
_Middle_. Monday wasn't much of an issue anymore, though, although Dean had made a vow to himself to forget about ABC Family (Still, he couldn't help but flip back to that channel.). 

"Here, honey." 

Dean thanked his mother, Sally Dawkins, and took the lunch she had offered him. He gave a   
snort of disgust and waited until he heard the familiar click of the door, throwing the shiny red apple to the side. He hated apples. What was up with them, anyway? They were so . . . apple-like. 

He shook his head, turning to his plate again to see what else his mother had given him.   
Success! On the plate lay a handful of potato chips. He grabbed a few, savoring the salty, delicious   
flavor of the crispy potatoes. _This_ was the kind of food that he enjoyed. So small, yet so intricate; such a masterpiece. Each individual piece was a work of art in itself. Oh, and the different varieties! Ruffles– especially complex– cheddar, original, sour cream and onion, barbecue– So many flavors, so little time! 

Chips weren't the only type of food he deemed worthy of eating. He also enjoyed sandwiches   
(packed with ham and cheese), pizza, and– Well, let's just settle on every type of junk food imaginable. Food was possibly the only other thing he loved next to television. He loved his family and all, but really, he couldn't say that he had bonded with them as much as his beloved television. 

How could he not love television, though? It was so much like real life, he sometimes wondered   
whether he was watching TV or– Oh, who was he kidding, the chances of him turning the television off were slim to none. However, despite his love for that wonderful invention, he always found the time to give his brother advice. He reminded him of his younger self. 

Girlfriends. His brother almost always had some sort of issue with girls that he'd ask Dean   
about. He would always laugh, remembering the good old days, back when he was in high school . . . He remembered his first girlfriend. She broke up with him. Something about being addicted to TV, or some other wacky accusation. 

Girlfriends weren't the only thing that commonly popped up in conversations between him and   
Tommy. His best friend, Melvin or something, was talked about a lot. Dean hadn't had many friends in his lifetime, but that didn't mean that he didn't have a blast with them. It was just like _The Little_   
_Rascals_, only they had normal haircuts and no girls ever showed much, if any, interest in him, besides   
Cilla (his previous and last girlfriend). 

Dean was pushed out of his thoughts as the television screen began to blur. The screen   
suddenly turned black. Dean panicked, grabbing the controller and pressing on the buttons repeatedly. There were a few sparks and the television exploded. 

You heard me right. Exploded. 

"NO!" Dean shrieked, looking around and hyperventilating. What was he going to do? Tommy   
was at school. His mother was at the station. His father was in City Hall. The basic frame of the   
television seemed to be intact . . . Was it going to be able to be repaired? What if it couldn't? It would be all his fault . . . All his fault that his best friend in the world had died . . . Exploded right before his very sleep-withdrawn eyes. 

No. 

No, he wasn't going to let some explosion take control of his life. He'd fix the television himself!   
After all, he'd seen his parents fix it plenty of times, so why not him? How hard could it be? 

So suddenly did Dean realize that he had an obstacle . . . Standing up. Don't misinterpret, Dean   
wasn't handicapped in any way, it was just that he hadn't been out of that chair in . . . well, in forever. What would he do now? It was impossible for him to stand up . . . His muscles had probably atrophied so much that his legs had fused with the seat! 

He took in a deep breath, gripping the armrests. One small step for couch potatoes, one giant   
leap for– Oh screw it, he didn't get up with any brave phrase. Did he even remember how to walk   
anymore? There was only one way to find out. Dean heard the sound of his back defusing with the back of the chair, his short legs moving ever so slightly as the bottom of his feet hit the carpet. Okay, good so far . . . He wriggled his toes, testing out the ground. It was pretty firm. He was good to go. His knuckles whitened as he lifted himself from the seat, feeling the faintly familiar experience of standing. He felt . . . tall. That wasn't important though, what was important now was to fix his TV. 

Okay, so he just duct taped it back together, but it was a start. 

He grabbed the remote, turning the small, dusty button marked 'Power', whatever it was for.   
Nothing. He tried more buttons. Still nothing. Now what? He had tried absolutely everything . . . There was only one choice left. No . . . He couldn't dare . . . Could he? 

It was time. He was going outside. 

It was like a marathon on television, only harder. Dean was running through the streets like a   
madman, carrying the TV in his hands, determined to get to the repair shop and have his beloved   
machine fixed and working again. He couldn't give up on it now, no matter how fast he had to run . . . 

Okay, so he was really walking slowly and panting like a dog, but it was the heart that counted. 

"Excuse me, my name is Callibria Manifesto Galibro Mufasa Spike Angel Xena and I'm new to   
Pleasantville and you just seemed so friendly and– GAH!!!" 

Dean took up the whole sidewalk and ended up pushing the beautiful young woman into   
oncoming traffic. "Sorry, lady, I've got a television to fix!" 

He was exhausted. The store was just a few feet away; he couldn't give up now! Panting, he   
entered the small shop and leaned against the counter, out of breath. "Television . . . exploded . . . need . . . it . . . fixed . . ." 

"One moment, sir, I'll be with you right away." 

"So, Dean, what did you do today?" Tommy asked, sitting down on the couch. Dean was   
happily watching the television, munching on potato chips. 

"Oh, just went to the repair shop. No biggie." 

"Oh, that's cool. So, say that there's this girl I know, and I really like her . . ." 

**THE END**

A/N: Do YOU want to write about Dean's adventures? Then get writing, fools! That's right, I'm   
challenging everyone to write a story about Dean! Bonus goes to someone who writes a fic with the   
following included:   
1. Dean, of course.   
2. Vampires biting Dean.   
3. Dean turning evil.   
4. The gang going on investigation.   
5. The ending is up to you. ;) 


End file.
